


Previously Untasted Ethnic Delicacies, Provided By A.J Crowley

by clovershot



Series: I Guess We Can Have A Normal Life Now (Yeah Right) [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Best Friends, Drunken Shenanigans, Food, Gen, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 14:17:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19703080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clovershot/pseuds/clovershot
Summary: It's a brand new world. They both get drunk. Crowley decides to treat his angel to a surprise feast, partly to see what he can get away with. Things get out of hand. (SFW)





	Previously Untasted Ethnic Delicacies, Provided By A.J Crowley

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Congratulations, Aziraphale. You guys are actual, certified Best Friends now. This kind of stuff comes with the territory. Time to up your game.  
> 2\. No, neither of them realize 'Norwegia' isn't a real country. (They really do need to get out more)

He and Crowley had spent the first two days together in their entirety: The first day spent eating all the foods Aziraphale had briefly come to terms with the fact he would never taste again, and the second eating all the foods Crowley had told him were delicacies he’d never heard of before. There were several bottles of wine involved, and Aziraphale had praised each one (despite several being a bit dodgy in the texture department, especially 'Orange Liqueur Infused Brazilian Crouton') and he got all the way to the last one -- Lightly Steamed Rosewater Seastones -- before pausing. 

“S’from Nor...wegia,” Crowley explained. “Don’t have much to eat in the winter. There was a big plague or something once. Killed all their sheep. I think somebody on my side did that. But look what came of it! Eggs. Sea egg things. From inside these little mollocks. mollusks. Really really tough. Now they only serve it to _kings_ ,” he’d said with a flourish, entirely drunk, but with such earnestness and awe that Aziraphale couldn’t help but fall for it. _Oh, humans,_ he thought with fondness. _You all really are so wonderfully investive. Inventive? Headstrong._ Head _strong_. Teeth… strong..?

“But my dear,” he began suspiciously --

“ _Kings,_ Angel. On their _birthdays_ ,” Crowley put in, doubling down.

“But _how_ do they --”

“Ah! Strong teeth. Real strong. Comes of… comes of…” his eyes darted in despair for the lost string of words he was composing before finally grasping it. “Well, comes of eatin’ stuff like this, I ‘spose,” he finished, a bit lamely. 

Aziraphale looked dubiously at the plate. The arrangement of the dish really was quite charming. He’d never been to.. wherever Crowley said it’d come from, so who was he to judge? And he’d told Crowley, before the End, that he wished he’d traveled to the farther reaches and ‘tasted the cream of the whole crop,’ so to speak. After the first day, Crowley had jumped into the quest with endearing (albeit alarming) swiftness, apparently popping from country to country in minutes (“Who knows how long they’re going to let us keep doing this, ey? Might as well get it fast before they start making us take aeroplanes. Now _that’s_ something I’d like to see. Angel on an aeroplane!” Aziraphale had shivered. Immortal or not, a plane crash was something on his Not Ever Ever list) and by the end of the afternoon, Aziraphale had found the little sitting room table in his bookshop covered with things he couldn’t even begin to identify. 

Crowley had a story for each one, although the origins of a couple were hazy. “I was quick,” he shrugged in his defense, “ _real_ quick. Just grabbed em off some rich bugger’s plate before he could say ‘Oi! M’ delicacy!’” Aziraphale had chided him for stealing, of course, but couldn’t get through the admonition without cracking a smile. Who was keeping score now, anyway? Plus, hadn’t he said _rich_ bugger? Plus… hadn’t Crowley done this just for him?

And so, with the appropriate pomp of a king (on his _birthday,_ mind you), he popped the Lightly Steamed Rosewater Seastone into his mouth. It was at this moment he noticed Crowley beginning to lose the battle between his carefree demeanor and keeping a straight face. And Aziraphale finally understood.

“Cwowley,” he said calmly around the _pebble_ in his mouth, color rising to his cheeks.

“Mmm?” said Crowley, raising his eyebrows over his sunglasses, his elbows propped on the table and his chin (and mouth) clamped securely behind his hand.

“Would I be cowwect in asthuming,” he continued in his stately way, pulling his napkin slowly from his collar (Crowley was vibrating slightly now) “tha’ thiff iv a sthone...” Well now. Two could play this game: Without warning, Aziraphale sat upright and _p’tooed_ the pebble as hard as he could out of his mouth -- “FROM THE BLOODY PARK!?” 

Crowley abruptly tipped back out of his chair. For one horrified second, Aziraphale wondered if he’d gone too far and actually killed him. But when he popped back up, hair amuss, glasses cracked ( _Nice shot,_ he preened) and laughing like he needed air and wasn’t getting any, Aziraphale grew furious and traitorously wished that the Bollocks Rock From Just Outside had gone in one eye and clean out the other. The worst part was, the more upset he got, the harder Crowley laughed. So, in the end, he’d shoved him bodily out the bookshop’s front door, slamming it as hard as the movies he’d seen suggested he do, and stomped back in to his sitting room to clean up Crowley’s little ‘feast.’ He could still hear the demon cackling as the bastard sauntered his way back into his Bentley.

**Author's Note:**

> (I've been writing all my life but never for anyone else to see. Finally breaking the habit. Don't kill me please)


End file.
